


Grow Up Girl

by queerlybelovdd (thatwriterchique)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatwriterchique/pseuds/queerlybelovdd
Summary: Tiffany comes to terms with being Black.





	Grow Up Girl

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first attempt at original fic. but i think it came out pretty well????
> 
> anyway, feel free to leave kudos or comment or whatever floats your boat :)
> 
> twitter @queerlybelovd  
> ig @queerlybelovdd

Tiffany is 4 and she’s crying because her Black babysitter just told her that she’s Black like her. When asked her why she’s crying, she tries to explain that she doesn’t want to be ugly. Then she’s crying too hard to say anything, so Paula sits with her on the top of the stairs until she calms down enough to lay back down and go to sleep.

They never talk about it again.

  
*

  
Tiffany is 5 and even she knows her white mom has no idea how to do her hair. She always just kind of awkwardly brushes at the dry, fluffy coils until she can work it into a ponytail. But it’s Mom and she’s trying, so Tiffany smiles big and kisses her on the cheek.

When she starts doing her own hair at 10, she tells her mom it’s because she wants to be more independent and pretends it doesn’t hurt when she starts spending more time with her brother instead.

(At least she’s learned the benefits of wetting her hair before combing it.)

  
*

  
Tiffany is 9 when realizes that the white boy next door thinks she’s pretty. Her brother was the one to point it out, always so observant and quick to pick up on that sort of thing.

It’s the first time she’s ever felt pretty to anyone. She doesn’t look like the models on the magazines or on TV or in movies. She’s not thin, no one can run their fingers through her hair, and she’s not white. But now that Bobby has pointed it out to her, she sees how Kevin looks at her. Like he wants to hold her hand (maybe even kiss her). It’s sort of weird because they’ve known each other for so long. It doesn’t mean Tiffany doesn’t like the attention, though.

Later, she doesn’t question that the only other time she seeks Kevin’s company is when her divorce is almost finalized and she’s on the verge of losing custody of her little girl. She soaks up the feeling of genuinely desired, even as she knows it won’t last.

(In another lifetime, he spins her, dips her, then kisses her in a park filled with lights and it’s the prettiest she’s ever felt without having to lie to herself and it still feels like a fantasy dreamed up by a little Black girl who just wants to be seen.)

  
*

  
Tiffany is 13 and she’s pretty sure she’s gonna pee on herself from laughing, if Nicky doesn’t beat her to it. It’s Saturday and their readings copies of Cosmopolitan magazines smuggled in by Finneas, who’s sitting on the floor with his notebook ready to escape with the loot through the first story window in case dear old Grandpa shows up. Apparently, Martha Stewart is going to prison and Tiffany and Nicky are doing terrible impersonations of what that might be like. They’ve also been taking little sips of whatever alcohol Nicky keeps in his flask. So, they don’t realize how loud they’re being until they hear footsteps toward the door.

Finneas barely has time to escape through the window with the magazines and flask before Tiffany’s bedroom flies open to reveal their grandfather, frowning so deeply their tempted to warn him of it permanency.

“What is the meaning of all this noise?”

They both stare blankly at him. Neither offers up an explanation since they know he won’t accept any. The sudden silence is jarring.

“Well, then. Since you can’t answer my question and you’re clearly doing nothing important with the time given to you, you are to get dressed and meet me in the parlor at 12:45. That gives you 15 minutes.” He doesn’t have to tell them not to be late.

Nicky slinks toward the door and doesn’t look back as he walks through it.

Before their overly stern (maternal) grandfather follows, he looks back at Tiffany. “Do remember not to act your color, child. This is a place of decorum. I expect you to remember that.” She barely notices the door closing as she sits on the bed, face warm with shame over something she can’t control.

Years later, she’ll hate herself for reciting those words verbatim every time she leaves her house. She’ll hate herself even more for knowing she’d rather control her family into submission then be the Black mom caught yelling at her kid.

(She can’t afford to act her color or she’ll ruin the performance of a happy woman with a great life, the performance of a lifetime.)

  
*

  
Tiffany is 30 and she’s thinking, “This white girl gets to coast through life being mediocre while the world looks at me to either be perfect or fail and it’s not fair and who the fuck does she think she is trying to give me advice as if she knows anything about life or me or my life. She should keep her opinions to herself.”

  
*

  
Tiffany is 30 and it’s the first time she’s felt embraced by other Black people. The first time she’s ever felt ready to embrace other Black people. She’s crying and out of breath from being chased into a beauty salon and being protected by a fierce looking hairdresser with a knife who’s clearly afraid but still ready to fight and protect a whole stranger. She’s crying and she’s stunned and she’s grateful and she’s miserable because she misses her little girl (who she’s fighting for custody of) and her siblings (who she hasn’t seen in years) and she can’t talk but she wouldn’t even if she could and she’s still crying only now she’s crying harder only with barely any sound and someone is shushing her and holding her and there’s hands on her back.

Then she’s getting her hair done and no one’s confused or making comments about it being unmanageable. They make her feel pretty and it’s not some allusion to escape her life.

  
*

  
Tiffany is crying in a cheap motel bathroom over the complete crumbling of her life. Her daughter’s face as her ex-husband drives her away for could possibly be the final time lingers in her mind, haunts her dreams.

But at least she’s no longer crying about being Black.


End file.
